In Deviance
by teasetillyoudrop
Summary: Negotiations can only take Dick so far. ASBAR BruDick for fest 2012.


_I don't own any of the characters and make no profit writing this._

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**Summary:** Negotiations can only take Dick so far.

**A/N:** Written for the brudick 2012 fest prompt 75. Frank Miller's All Star Batman & Robin, The Boy Wonder 'verse - anything, I'd just love to see them interact again. Forgot to upload here.

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Bright blue eyes blink once in trepidation as his hands grasp the brass door knob of Bruce's home office. Even if the rooms outside of the cave aren't Batman territory, Dick feels his adrenaline ramping up like he was facing down caped crusader with an illogical request.

If there's one thing he's learned during his time within the manor, it is negotiating for what you want.

The door hinge makes an ugly poignant squeak that gives him no chance to surprise Bruce. It earns him a cursory glance from the man still clad in a dark brown suite from the morning's meetings.

Dismissive and disinterested dark blues surrounded by a clean shaven jaw. A rarity that makes him look so much younger than Dick's used to seeing. More handsome.

"Nice to see you cleaned up," He fills the void left after the loud creaking of the door.

Silence.

"Finally see why the ladies go gaga over you," Dick looks around the decorated room filled with medical, judicial, scientific, and all types of literature in between. It's more books than Dick's ever seen in a room outside the library and it makes him feel so young.

Out of place in a room of history. About to face down a living dictionary.

A thinking machine.

Bruce spares him another look, this time eyes clearly looking from him to the door. A shooing motion if there ever was one.

Dick ignores him and sits on top of the office desk. Close enough to feel heat radiating off of the arm resting on the desk. A touch void of physical contact. The musky sent of cologne he whiffs off the older man much different from the burned rubber and earned sweat of the Batman.

But so much like the dark and unsaid things in between them.

He gives himself some time to reorganize his thoughts again, already forgetting the whats and hows, watching the older man's flowing script materialize on each checked paper. Clear, concise. Perfect.

"Shouldn't you be studying with Alfred," A monotone voice rises from a dark head of hair, slightly peppered with a couple of grays. Still dismissive.

"I gave him a day off," Dick smiles through the rapid gallop in his chest. Kicks his foot up and back to make a satisfying thump on the mahogany desk. Twice.

"Did you now." Bruce leans his chair back. Face inquisitive, annoyed, expectant, and judging all at once.

"I want out," Dick bites at the peeling skin of his lower lip. A horrible habit he's picked up facing down the unpredictable craze of the Bat. Now a habit for any time they spend alone, "I mean, I want to look around."

With you goes unsaid, unheard, hopefully, regretfully unnoticed.

Nothing but shuffling papers answer.

"I can't… can't learn everything from just patrolling."

Bruce leans on a propped arm, "So nights aren't enough…" Stoic eyes regard him for a second before turning back to the boring paper works on his desk, finger caressing a well shaved chin in thought. Not probing. Already a lost plea, if Bruce's divided attention is to go by.

"Bruce," Dick says, lowering the timbre of his voice. To be taken seriously.

But only more pen squeaks and in scratches. He combats the urge to fidget. Keeps his slump on the desk loose, unchallenging, playful.

Plan B then.

"Different worlds, night and day," He smiles wider, tries to remember the leering looks he's seen on television. Drops a slipper to slink a naked foot on a muscled thigh, waiting patiently for a bite.

"So you say," Bruce snorts, disregards the foot to continue reading the business papers strewn perfectly across his desk once more. He ignores the way Dick's ankles rasps against his slacks as it slips down between his legs with each second he doesn't respond.

"Naughty deals in the dark," Dick twitches a toe, legs reaching, stretching more in their position, thighs spread wider.

Bruce snubs his efforts, overlooking the leg right beneath his still arm in exchange for another paper signed with his approval.

"Legit negotiations in the day," Dick feels bolder, moves the foot further up to rest on the older man's crotch. Just resting, still waiting. His legs are as wide as they can go. More an offering than a suggestion now.

But still no answer.

The Bat would have him floored. Begging, pleading by now. Capes stopping floor burns from all the struggling. Silky texture extenuating each bump on the cave floor and contrasting with all the heat. Rubber and spandex friction. Leotard trapping his arms, preventing him from moving, touching, clawing as a gloved hand treks down his back with slow precision. To make him scream.

Domino mask warping and hindering his view, pushed down on the ground, unable to move on his own, as a gruff breath drowns out his pants

The thoughts have his toes curling around the flesh underneath them. Causes a slight twitch on a pen tipped hand that makes the y of Bruce's signature look looped and forged.

"Both hard," Dick presses the full sole of his foot flat against the hot rod trapped beneath the suit's slacks, "Deals. But I want to see lights not coming from windows."

Bruce stills, once again withdraws back with almost a silent protest of the chair. Still within reach, with more stretching or a slight slide closer.

"Why should I let you?" Bruce's canines glint predatory in the morning light. Waiting for the wrong move.

"Reasons," He aims a coy look, eyes hiding under a fall of hair and long eyelashes. A celebration that he's one step closer.

Always that sharp, belittling grin, "The city has nothing for a little snot like you."

"I can find something amusing," Dick lays back farther, throws his hips up higher. To let a span of skin peak out between his shirt and shorts. Just enough to be comfortably natural.

"Your papers aren't ready," Bruce eyes don't wander, but Dick can feel the embers lighting.

"As if they're not already talking," Dick rolls his eyes and laughs.

Dark lust shutter behind annoyance.

And just like that, he's overstepped a line he doesn't know. Batman's a freak and Bruce Wayne is a no touch zone. Dick curses his stupid mouth, too quick to poke a wound. Another habit, one that gave him noogies and groans under the big top.

One that gives him furrowed brows and five steps out the door.

"You would trade seeing fear from men decades older than you for frivolous time in the city," Bruce clamps a solid grip on his still wandering, apologetically wandering, foot. Strong palm vaguely grinding, squeezing Dick's foot. Painful. But…

"They won't suspect a thing,"

"I asked a question."

Fear has him tongue tied and his heart beating a mile a minute. Fear has him hypersensitive to every muscle twitch, teeth grind. What is the right answer? Does he want the right answer? Anticipating the bruises on his skin.

He's invincible. All or nothing, "You think they'll take me?" Dick almost laughs with his ridiculousness, but he's so close Bruce deserves another, "Or. Do. You. Fear. Me?"

Bruce moves too quick, drops his foot in a half a blink and has his chin in an almost painful grip the rest. "Not happening." A rough callused thumb caresses his chapped lips, "However, my patience with your smart mouth is wearing thin."

Dick lets his tongue peak out, to graze the moving finger just enough to feel the rough texture and taste a hint of salty sweat and traces of ink. He's won, he's won.

A walk on the streets tomorrow, a joyful ride now.

He smirks up at the older man with a challenge bared on the curves of his lips and the eager shadows dancing in his eyes, "Then why don't you do something about it."

Watching Bruce loosen the tie around his neck, slowly unbuttoning as his face fills with a wicked, hungry smile. A smile they've both seen in the dark alleys of Gotham. A smile Dick feels mirrored on his face.

Wild.

They're both insane.

Nuts.

Watching fingers that break ribs in the cover of night leave marks on his thighs on their way up, leaving red and white tracks on his skin.

The answering cock tenting the front of the older man's pants rubbing them blind as Dick dry humps him. Pinned on the desk with Bruce's deranged chuckles in the background. Firm right hand holding Dick's hips down as the left stops him from touching in turn.

Trapped. Bruising pressure everywhere.

Moaning and biting on the chest moving above him.

Legs finally free to rub, caress, knee. Hold back, hold close the body grinding him down on cold, unforgiving wood.

All to make him-them wild.

Soar.

Feeling solid contours shaped by years of training engulf, swallow, surround, overwhelm his smaller form, Dick learns the best lesson of all.

Taking is much more enjoyable than any negotiating between them.


End file.
